Rick crouched on the roof, watching the approaching car closely. He memorized the license plate as two men in suits jumped out of the blue sedan and entered the bar.

Rick stood and, with a running start, jumped to the roof of the next building. As he dusted off the dirt from his landing, he eyed the next roof. It was probably too far for him to make it. Instead, he headed for the neon sign on the store front and clambered down the giant letters, spelling, “STEW’S.” Once he was a safe distance from the ground, he let go and landed lightly.

Blending in with the handful of shoppers on the street, he walked quickly down the sidewalk to the busy main street. He looked at the cars slowing for the traffic light and held out a thumb.

He caught the eye of two teenaged boys in a beat up Honda Prelude. They pointed at Rick and slowly pulled over. The passenger rolled down the window. “Where ya headed? Vegas? LA?”

Rick gave them a good-natured smile. “Nah, just a couple streets over. Can I get a lift?”